The Different Club
by wavetail
Summary: AU/AH/OOC. Let's just say that everyone's a little bit different. And the individuals with the most differences might just be the ones who fall in love the hardest. Rating may change later.


Ian O'Shea did not want to get out of bed.

But, more importantly, he did not want to call his girlfriend.

And he knew as long as he isolated himself in his bedroom wrapped in a cocoon of blankets while feigning sleep he would have a weak, yet passable excuse for the delay. At least until the moment when he would feel guilty enough to finally respond to her eleven "missed" calls.

Sunday morning sun peaked though the merest sliver of the semi-closed window drapes, casting a hazy streak of light almost directly down the center of Ian's bedroom. He pried open his sleep heavy eyes and raised his head a few inches off his pillow to glare at the morning light. Feeling quite resentful toward the day he would soon have to get up and face, he flopped his face down once again and groaned dejectedly into his pillow.

He did not want to get up. And he did _not_ want to call his goddamned girlfriend.

All at once, his closed door slammed open with an ear shattering "_BANG_" as it reverberated off the back wall. Ian had no reaction to the commotion, he didn't bother moving a muscle. He didn't need to raise his head to know that a tall girl stood haughtily in the doorway, her curly black hair twisted up into a high messy bun, her long tan arms and fingers perched on her hips in a disapproving manner. He could faintly hear the sole of her shoe tapping impatiently against the wooden floorboards.

"C'mon, Ian. Get the hell up, lazy bones."

"Go _away_," he moaned into the face of his pillow.

The girl heaved a sigh. "Look. I know today is going to be awful for you. But you can't just lie in your room and let the day pass you buy. You need to suck up your despicable self pity and start acting like a human being who at least _attempts_ to make some contribution to this blasted society."

Ian completely ignored his sister's mini lecture. He made a silent vow to himself that he would stay in this big, warm bed all day long. Nothing would convince him to get out of it. Not even if his sister tried to drag him out by his toes. He and the bed were inseparable. Nothing would tear them apart. Nothing.

The girl hummed in distaste at Ian's lack of an appropriate reaction. When she spoke again her voice had taken on a sickly sweet, syrupy tone. "Ah well." She threw her hands into the air in mock surrender. "I guess I won't be able to make pancakes this morning. After all, we have all of that batter just sitting in the fridge. But Jodi and I would never be able to eat all of the pancakes it would make by _ourselves_."

She took a step closer to the bed, leaning forward over the end of it so Ian had no choice but to soak up every word. "Oh... If only my _dear_ brother, Ian, would be gracious enough to assist us in devouring some _scrumptious_ pancakes on this fine morning."

With obvious reluctance, Ian slowly, very slowly, turned over and sat up. His eyes locked onto is sisters laughing ones, and he grimaced.

"Pancakes?" Ian muttered meekly. The offer was too good to resist. His sisters pancakes were the best. He cursed himself for being weak enough to succumb to the bribe of hot food. But his empty stomach simply couldn't ignore the offer of a mouth-watering breakfast.

The girl was still smirking deviously as she leaned away from the bead and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Excellent," she said, her grin stretching from ear to ear. "You get up. I'll make pancakes. See you in the kitchen in five minutes, bro. Look alive." And with that, she turned on her heels and swept out of the bedroom.

Ian sat there in his bed for a few moments, his sheets all tangled around his long legs. He suppressed a sigh and glared up at the ceiling. His sister has a point, he had to admit. He supposed he couldn't ignore the day with all the dread it held in store or him. He might as well get up and take his sister's advice to look alive.

But there's a funny thing about misery. No matter how fast you try to run from it, it always ends up catching you.

Seeing he had no other choice, Ian gritted his teeth and swung himself out of bed. With caution he approached his closet, and peered miserably into its contents for something appropriate to wear on this horrendous occasion.

**It's short and I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense. But it's just an intro. **

**Just a heads up if I continue this fic: it's going to be really, really different. **

**I love feedback. Hope you all are well. **


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